


Space to Be

by Blackwidina



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Broken Triangle, But still being awesome, Drama, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Gwen not being perfect, M/M, Merlin/Gwen friendship, Minor Gwen/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Misunderstandings, Panic Attacks, Snark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-04-10 22:54:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4411028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackwidina/pseuds/Blackwidina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time I watched Season 5 of Merlin, the first thing that struck me with all the subtlety this show contains (meaning NONE,) was that the UST between Arthur and Merlin had ramped up. A lot. Except it didn't feel like UST. It felt like a whole lot of ‘we hooked up during the time skip’ vibe. </p><p>So. My mind promptly decided to start filling in from where Season 4 left off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is dedicated to everyone who harassed me for years to watch Merlin. I resisted, but now I am one of y'all. However, kudos especially to my aptly named kyuubi_wench, who not only encouraged me to write, but did my beta read and squealed loud enough to overcome my nerves.

Merlin silently crept into Arthur's chambers, taking extra care of his feet so as not to trip over anything. It was earlier than he usually arrived, so the lighting was barely sufficient, but he could just make out the draped archways that separated the 'bedroom' area of Arthur's chambers from the sitting area. He pulled the left one back, tying it securely, peering past to check the four poster's occupants were still asleep. He made his way over to the window and twitched the heavy drapes open just a crack, letting in a bit of the early dawn light. Once he was sure he could see, he peeked just over his shoulder, making sure it was safe before completely turning around. He couldn't help the huge, silly grin he felt stretching from ear to ear. 

Moving quietly still, he tip-toed to the far side of the bed, where Guinevere was nestled in the blankets next to Arthur, white nightdress contrasting with both her skin and the red of the duvet. She looked like an angel, and he couldn't quell the utter happiness that consumed him. He'd missed her so much during her banishment, and even more, he'd missed how _happy_ she'd made Arthur. But now she was here, and Merlin would personally curse Arthur into oblivion if he ever hurt her again.

He knelt down by the bed, remembering to check under him lest he accidentally wound up kicking the chamber pot, and gently laid a hand on hers. He gave it a little shake, pleased when she woke easily. Her lovely face went through a rapid shift from sleepy confusion to comprehension to embarrassed realization. His obvious delight probably didn't help.

“Good morning, Gwen,” he whispered softly, trying to look more helpful and supportive rather than gleeful.

She blushed for a moment, but then smiled back, “Good morning.” 

“What would you like for breakfast, your Highness?”

She grimaced a little at the title, “Um . . . eggs? Eggs sound good. Please.” She subtly tried to look back over her shoulder, but Merlin shook his head.

“He's asleep. Unless he's in the field, he's like a log. I'll wake him when I come back with the tray. Here,” he pulled a small bottle out of his pocket and put it on the bedside table. “That's from Gaius. It can help if you're sore at all. It's meant to be topical, so I'm sure Arthur can help you if--”

 _“Merlin!”_ she hissed, hands going to cover her face.

He couldn't resist a bit of a chuckle at that point, but he pulled one of her hands away, and said, quite seriously, “And on that note, do I need to poison his food for any reason? Maybe drop something he likes? I've got all sorts of opportunity for sabotage, Gwen, you just say the word if he's not a gentleman.”

She actually gaped at him for a moment before whispering furiously, “No, no, he was . . . he was just fine. Wonderful even. I mean, you know. I mean, of course you don't! I just. We. I'm fine. Better than. Oh, _Merlin._ ” And just like that, she was giggling quietly, and Merlin couldn't help but feel proud at the accomplishment.

“Right then. I'll get your breakfast, your Highness, and his, and be back in just a bit.” With a final grin, and a squeeze of the hand he still held, he turned and nearly skipped out of the room, barely avoiding a collision with the nearest chair.

It was going to be a beautiful day.

 

\----------------------------

 

Twenty minutes later, Merlin eased the door open again carefully, the twice-heavy tray pushing the limits of his generally already poor balance. With exaggerated care, he gently set the whole thing on Arthur's long table before closing the door behind him. He saw Gwen starting to get up, but waved her back as he put her breakfast on a small tray with legs. Once everything was perfect, up to and including some little red flowers that he'd decided to conjure on his way up the stairs, he took the tray to her. 

And if he noticed that the seal on the little bottle had been cracked, he knew better than to say anything.

“Here you go, your Highness,” he whispered cheerfully. “Eggs in abundance, plus a few other things Cook insisted you'd need—sausages and the like. And some fruit. And some honey, I thought you might like that. Anything else I can get you?”

“Oh Merlin, it's all lovely, really,” she answered, all smiles. She touched the flowers in their little clay pot. “I thought you were supposed to be some sort of terrible servant, the way he goes on,” she teased.

He laughed softly, “Oh, you're about to see why. But you're my favorite, so you get special treatment. Now, time for some entertainment!” With that, he swept back to the table and scooped up the much lighter tray. With a wink towards Gwen, who was watching curiously, he stopped creeping and walked over to the desk by the window, setting the tray down with its customary clatter—causing the massive lump on the bed to jerk.

“Mph!” they heard from the pillows. “Mpphflin!” 

Guinevere slapped a hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle.

Merlin responded by yanking the curtains open all the way. “Rise and shine!” he called loudly.

 _“MphfLIN!”_ The blond head burrowed even deeper into the pillows, almost disappearing completely.

It was too much for Gwen. She laughed, a proper laugh that Merlin felt ridiculously proud of hearing after all the hardships of the past year. It got even better as the sound seemed to wake Arthur the rest of the way, and suddenly there was a tousled mop of blond hair and blue eyes blinking owlishly around as the King's royal brain tried to catch up.

“Good morning, Sire!” Merlin said loudly, and with great relish. “Sleep well? Of _course_ you did. Should I bother setting out any clothes, or are you planning a lie-in?” He grinned wickedly, delighting in the way Arthur glared at him. 

“Merlin--”

“Breakfast?”

“MERLIN!”

Recognizing that tone, he made a break for the door, dodging the pillow Arthur hurled at his retreating back. “Right then, I'll be back for the dishes in an hour—have fun!”

The happy sounds of Gwen's laughter followed him out.

\------------------ 

Merlin had quite a busy morning. Even though almost all of Arthur's obligations had been canceled or postponed for the week, there was still a ton to be done. Merlin spent quite a bit of time running back and forth between people. He'd asked for a list of available maidservants that could be assigned to Gwen, copied the list in triplicate, and gone over them with Gwaine, George, and Audra. Gwaine could be trusted to know which servants were too free with their favors (Merlin essentially crossed off every name Gwaine smirked over,) George was useful in knowing which servants were adequate to the workload (his opinion of Merlin notwithstanding,) and Audra, as the head cook, had an eye out for which of them tended to run their mouths the most. 

In the end, Merlin had three candidates, and after speaking with each of them personally, he set them to work on finishing the Queen's chambers. The wedding had been a touch rushed, so they were still being decorated. Arthur had demanded the chambers be redone for Princess Mithian upon her arrival, as they'd originally been set up for Gwen. Changing them back was easier said than done, as much of the material had been re-purposed already. However, the three young women were both energetic and enthusiastic, and between them, Merlin had every faith things would be done by that night. 

After swinging by to stealthily sneak out the breakfast dishes (apparently the royal couple had decided to take a mid-morning nap, which Merlin fully intended to tease them about later,) he set about dealing with the wedding gifts. There were quite a few more than he'd expected, but Merlin was frankly amazed that anyone had sent _anything._ Arthur had a reputation for bucking the altar last-minute at this point. Still, he supposed, when you're a noble, it's not like you lack for trinkets. They probably just kept sending the same things to each other, like the infamous fruitcake that had made the rounds of Ealdor for the last twenty-odd years.

The work was _tedious._ Once he'd convinced the guards to stand outside the room the gifts were kept in, he checked _everything_ for enchantments, poisons, hidden blades, anything he could think of. He placed the weapons together to be put into Arthur's personal armory, and the various vanity sets and cosmetics and jewelry to be taken to Gwen's rooms. The majority of the gems and jewels would go straight into the coffers, though Merlin spotted a few that he thought might be better sent to the Camelot jewelers to be made into pretty things for the new Queen. He'd run them by Arthur later. Then it was a _fascinating_ hour with Geoffrey, who, as a man of many talents, kept track of not only where the gifts came from (so that Arthur-actually-Merlin could write the appropriate thank-you notes,) but the full inventory, to be added to the various inventory lists that could be checked in case of thefts. 

Naturally, Merlin had left the keys in Arthur's room, and not realized it until they were ready to start moving things.

Merlin pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to will away the headache that had been building for the last hour. “All right,” he said to the half dozen servants who were currently giving him that look that meant they couldn't _believe_ he out-ranked them. “Take the things meant for the Queen's rooms and place them in the care of the maidservants working there. Two of the guard will escort you there and back.” He nodded to the guards, still feeling a bit strange when they moved to obey. 

He looked at the rest of the servants, and thought for a moment. “I'm going to have to disturb the King and Queen in order to get the keys, and I'd wager one of Cook's roast chickens that at _least_ one of them's going to want a bath drawn.” He gave a stern look to a younger maidservant who tittered at that. “So, the rest of you get started on heating the water, and we can move the rest of this when we're done attending to that. Agreed?” At their nods, he gestured them out before him, and took his time climbing up the steps to the King's room.

He knocked quietly, hoping that maybe he could just slip in and grab the keys without a fuss, but sure enough, he heard Arthur's voice.

“Come!”

“I'm sure you have,” he muttered under his breath, trying to get the snark out of his system. He slid through the door, finding the newlyweds sitting at the table, still in their sleep clothes and both looking so positively radiant he couldn't help but feel an answering happiness.

Which, of course, Arthur just couldn't leave alone, “Well, I hope you've enjoyed your morning off, _Merlin_ , because it's back to work for you.”

“ _Morning off?_ What--” Merlin managed to choke himself off from actually yelling, forcibly schooling his face into something closer to neutrality. He glared at the smirk playing on Arthur's face, and deadpanned, “Oh _yes_. Such a relaxing, duty-free morning.”

“Oh, Arthur, stop it,” Gwen scolded lightly. “You never give him half the credit he deserves.” She beamed at Merlin. “Breakfast was lovely, thank you.” Her hands fiddled with the water goblet she'd been drinking from.

He grinned back, _“You're_ most welcome. Will your Highness be wanting a bath?”

Gwen flushed and dropped her eyes at the table, “Y-yes, that would be much appreciated, if it's not too much trouble. Thank you.”

“Well would you look at that? The daughter of a blacksmith has more manners than the noblemen around here,” Merlin teased. “I think we should elevate more commoners above their station. Might do you all some good.”

Arthur snorted. “Really? Because I'm quite sure Gwaine has had the opposite influence.”

If only he knew. “Regardless, Sire, I need the keys to the royal armory and the treasury vault, if you don't mind.”

“Oddly enough I _do_ mind. Whatever for?”

Merlin gave him his best 'you're being difficult' look. “Funnily enough, there are all these _gifts_ from people that need to be sorted and put away. And you've got the only keys for the rooms they need to be in.” 

Arthur rolled his eyes, and made a wave towards the bed, which Merlin took as an invitation to help himself to the various key rings. Before he did, though, he cracked the door to let out a shrill whistle into the hallway, knowing that one of the servants would be waiting for it.

Sure enough, by the time he had dragged out the massive copper bathtub, and figured out which two keys he needed, there was a steady stream of people bringing bathwater, each bowing their heads deferentially to the new Queen. Gwen, for her part, looked equal parts flustered at the attention and pleased. 

Keys in hand, Merlin turned to leave, only to find Arthur behind him. “Can I do something for you, Sire?”

“Yes, dress me. I think I'll come with you, so that Guinevere can relax a bit.”

“Do you want the full kit, or something you can get out of by yourself later, if you catch my meaning, Sire?”

_“Merlin.”_

He held his hands up in mocking surrender before opening the wardrobe and grabbing the simple tunic and trousers he'd set in there earlier. 

Arthur took them with a suspicious look. “You know, Merlin, you actually seem to be over-prepared for all this.”

“Never satisfied, are you?” Still, for just a moment, Merlin let his walls down and let everything he felt right then show in his eyes. “I'm just glad that everything has worked out. Gwen's here, you're together, and you're both _happy._ It's all I could hope for.” He was grinning like a dope again.

“. . . You are such a _girl.”_

“And what's _wrong_ with girls?” came Gwen's voice from her seat at the table.

“Yes, my lord, last I checked you _quite enjoyed_ girls--”

_“MERLIN!”_

 

\-----------------

 

Thankfully, Arthur was in a _fantastic_ mood that day, and accompanied Merlin with a silly, but completely endearing little grin on his face. Merlin teased him mercilessly, but Arthur seemed in a mood to let almost everything roll off his back. He even helped carry some of his new weapons to the armory, and didn't even suggest that Merlin polish the already-pristine metal some more. He generally seemed to be content to hover around Merlin's shoulder and be in the way.

Eventually, they made their way around to the kitchen, where Arthur critiqued Merlin's plating skills as he gathered lunch together, and took Audra's side when she harangued Merlin for daring to grab a loose piece of chicken.

“Oh, c'mon, Audra, no one'll miss it, and it's too ugly for the nobles' plates,” Merlin grumbled, balancing the tray. “And you know I won't be back in time for dinner, anyway. I've earned a nibble before I have to go back and eat with Gaius.” 

Audra rolled her eyes, “Fine, but any more thievery out of you, and I'll have you in my own personal stocks, you gutter snipe. And a good evenin' to you, Your Majesty.” With an odd curtsy to Arthur, who was clearly highly amused by the whole exchange, she bustled off to harass the boy in charge of turning the spit. 

“Really, _Merlin,_ you just bring out the best in everyone, don't you?”

“Shut it, Sire, and let's go feed your Queen, shall we? I'm sure she's worked up an appetite by now. I'm just hoping it's for food.”

“Merlin!” 

“ . . . Is that a blush, Sire? Wait, _no!_ You can't hit me! I'll drop your dinner!”

“I'll have _you_ for dinner!”

“Forgive me if I find that unlikely not that there is -ahem- _more quality fare_ on the menu.” 

“You know, I can always reassign you. Perhaps to the Cook. Audra seemed quite enthused about those stocks.”

“. . . Shutting up, Sire.”

\-------------------------------

 

A Few Months Later . . .

 

A knock on Gaius' door had Merlin reflexively snapping his spell book shut and replacing it with one on medicine. “Enter!”

Guinevere came through the entryway, looking beautiful and shy. “Um . . . I was wondering if Gaius was here? I'd like to ask him about something.”

Merlin shook his head. “No, sorry. He's in the lower town, helping with a birth. But you know me, I've been here long enough I can probably answer most questions you have. Are you ill, your Highness?”

The Queen clutched her hands together nervously. “No! No. I'm just. I wanted to ask about . . . about something.”

He gave her a long look, before saying as gently as possible, “Gwen, I've known you as my friend a whole lot longer than I've known you as Queen. You can tell me anything. I won't tell Arthur, if that's the problem. Come on, sit down with me.”

She did as he asked, her gown looking out of place in Gaius' humble quarters. “You're right, of course. Thank you. It's nice, you know. You don't treat me like a Queen all the time. I mean, I'm grateful you don't. All this takes some getting used to. All the rules, the etiquette, the . . . the _duties._ ” She bit her lip, looking down at her lap. Her fingers twisted in the lush velvet.

Ah. Tact was probably called for, here. “Are some of your . . . duties . . . troubling you?”

“Ah, no! I mean, yes. I mean--”

“Gwen, we're sitting in a room full of emetics and laxatives. Just tell me what you want in Arthur's goblet tonight and it's done. I will _gladly_ brave the stocks for you.”

That earned him a giggle, but there was an edge of hysteria. “I don't think that's going to be necessary. Those duties are, um, very enjoyable— _Merlin!_ ” she swatted at him when he gave her a knowing smirk. However, she visibly relaxed. “It's, um, the duties that . . . that _come_ from that particular duty.”

He blinked slowly, working that out more slowly than he'd like to admit. “Ah. The royal heirs.”

“Yes. I know I'm expected to have them. As many as possible, probably. I just.” She blew out a breath. “Is there a way to make it happen more _quickly?_ ”

“What d'you mean?”

“I just. If I'm expected to have children, I think the faster the better. I'm not . . . I'm not very familiar with children, in general. This may seem strange, but I never really expected to have them.” Her hands fluttered a bit in her lap. “Much less _immediately,_ which seems to be what various councilors are pushing for. Which I understand. I mean. Arthur needs heirs. I would just. Rather the child-bearing part be over with, if you understand. I'm not exactly excited by the prospect. Is that wrong?”

Merlin shrugged, “I know it's not popular opinion, but it's not that uncommon. And at least you'll have nurses to help you. And I'll help, of course. As much as I can.”

“True. But also . . . I want to know . . . I mean, please don't think this an insult to Arthur!”

“Gwen, even if I did, I _live_ to insult Arthur. What's wrong?”

“I think I prefer my own chambers!” she blurted out. “Not that he's not lovely, but I'm so used to having my own _space_. That's why I kept my home, rather than keep in servant's quarters after my father died. I _like_ having my own bed and my own room to move and think and . . . and have my own things in. And you're lovely, too, but when you're with Arthur, I . . .” She looked at him helplessly.

There was a pang in his chest, and he prayed, _prayed_ she wasn't about to say what he thought. “If you like, I can talk with Ellinore. She seems keen to take on more lady-in-waiting duties. I know it must be very strange having a man around for certain things— _another_ man, I mean; I've been trying to make sure not to--”

“No, no, it's not that, it's.” She looked into his eyes earnestly as she searched for the words. “You and Arthur are like two sides of a coin. You're so close, and I. I feel. I'm almost _intruding_.”

Oh gods. “Gwen, _no--_ ”

“Oh, I'm not—not saying this very well. I love Arthur as my husband. I love you as my close friend. But you and Arthur have something that's altogether . . . _different._ You're so wrapped up in each other, and the more I see you two together, the more I see that I'm . . . interrupting? You work together so well, have such a rapport, and you've both been working _so hard_ to make it fit around me, and I love you both for it, but . . . I don't know if I can keep doing it. Or even if we should. He _needs_ you. I know you're both holding back for my sake, but I think you both need to . . . to be the way you are with each other. And I'm making that difficult.” She took one of his hands in hers. “Please tell me I'm saying this right and you're not angry with me?”

He shook his head automatically, mind reeling. “N-no. I mean yes. I think I understand. But Gwen, I'm just his servant—you're his _wife_.”

Her smile was all Gwen. Patient, loving, and just a little sad. “Merlin, you've never been _just_ a servant to him. Not even in the beginning, when all you did was bash your heads together like little boys. He needs you desperately, and I think you need him, too.”

Merlin felt his neck and ears getting warm, and prayed he wasn't actually blushing. “So . . . what exactly are you suggesting?”

Gwen worried at her lip again, “I think . . . I'd like to sleep in my own bed at night. However, I still need to conceive an heir. Is there something I can do? Or do we just, um. Until it happens?”

He took a breath, casting his mind over the various information Gaius had impressed on him over the years. “Well, obviously, you have to have relations, but there's a sort of . . . window, when conception generally occurs. It's based on a woman's monthly. So, this month, starting on the first day of the bleeding, keep a count of how many days pass between first bloods. For most, it's around a month, but it can be longer or shorter, depending on the woman. I know Gaius made sure you were had regular cycles before the wedding.” He was grateful that he'd worked with his mentor long enough that he was rarely embarrassed by such talk. On a spare piece of parchment, he marked off a month, then pointed at the end of the second week. “In the middle of that, there's about a week where conception is much more likely. If you're trying to conceive, this is the best time. Got it? If you like, you can bring me your count, and we can work it out together. All right?” 

She nodded her understanding. “And. If I don't. _Attend_ to Arthur outside of this time, it's not going to hurt my chances?”

“Very unlikely.” He smiled at her, crookedly. “Though his pride might be a bit hurt.” He took a drink out of his cup to hide his smile at the mental image of Arthur getting turned down by his own wife. He'd probably be whining for _weeks_.

“Oh, well. I'm sure you can _soothe_ him on that score.”

Merlin choked, spraying water all over Gaius' precious book. In a panic, he grabbed a cloth, dabbing desperately at the parchment and praying he didn't smudge the ink. Another cloth came into view, and between the two of them, they covered both sides.

When they'd managed to clear off the worst of it, Merlin swallowed hard. “Gwen. I think maybe you have . . . _misunderstood_ how Arthur and I--”

Gwen's touched his arm. When he found the courage to look at her, she was smiling tightly. “Merlin, please don't think I'm a fool. Of all people, you know I understand what it feels like to love two people at the same time. It's clear to me, more than ever, how Arthur feels. How _you_ feel!”

Merlin felt the room begin to close on him, his vision darkening around the edges. He got up from the bench and stumbled away from the table; his breathing took on a gasping edge. “No. No, Gwen. _I swear_. I'm . . . I'm only happy for you and Arthur. I. I've always pushed Arthur to be with you. He almost _banished me_ because I wouldn't let him give up on you. I swear, I've only ever--” His chest was starting to hurt, and he was heaving great gasps of air, his head starting to spin from the effort. 

“Merlin?”

He found himself on his knees, unable to hold his own weight for all the shaking. He felt like he was floating, disconnected. He could hear himself, between breaths, begging to be forgiven, that he didn't matter, _nothing_ mattered, and all he wanted was for Arthur and Gwen to be happy and _now she wasn't and it was all his fault--_

“Merlin! _MERLIN!_ ” Soft, but weathered hands were cradling his face, brushing away the dampness on his cheeks. “Merlin, you need to breathe. Please, Merlin, breathe for me. Let's count, one, two, three, four . . .” 

Several minutes (and a few hundred numbers) later, Merlin was finally calmed down enough to speak. They both sat on the floor, as though they were still both servants together, instead of servant and queen. His head ached, and his face felt raw from tears, and his ears were on fire, but he clung desperately to Gwen's hands as he begged, “ _Please_ , Gwen. You can't tell Arthur. Please, promise me that you won't.”

She bit her bottom lip, obviously torn. “I don't want to lie to him.”

Merlin swallowed against the lump that persisted in his throat. “Was what you told me, about . . .” he waved his hand over at the table where they'd been sitting. “Was all that true? Or just a way to--”

“No! I wouldn't . . . I was telling the truth, I swear!” Her hands fluttered around his. “I honestly feel . . . _smothered_ , I suppose. I love Arthur, truly, but between him and being Queen and being expected to run the household and provide children and learn all the million things that I was never taught, I just need some space. And I feel dreadful for it, but spending all my free time with Arthur makes me appreciate it less. I miss how we used to make the most out of each moment we could steal together. Now we're together all the time and it's frustrating. I never have a moment to myself. I rarely even have a moment with just _Arthur_. If it's not the knights, it's the councilors, if not them, then the courtiers, and if it's not them, it's . . . it's _you._ ”

“Oh, god, _Gwen_ , I--”

“No, no! He—he _needs you_. You've always treated him like a person, and he really needs that. As much as I love him, I'm just as guilty of seeing only the crown sometimes. And for us, that was fine. We needed limits, but he _needs_ someone to call him a prat, and refuse to bow or kiss his boots. I think he needs that, the same way I need solitude. This would . . . simply allow us all to . . . be more comfortable. Does that make sense?”

Merlin worried his lower lip for a moment. “It does. But it seems almost . . . do you regret being queen? Marrying Arthur?”

“No.” Any doubts he'd had were destroyed by the firm tone and steel in her gaze. “I can do this. I _will_ do this. I love Arthur. I want to see him happy. I make him happy, I know I do. And I can do a lot of good for the people of Camelot as queen. And the people are happy to see me be queen. From what the councilors say, they're thrilled at the idea of a commoner becoming royalty. For them, for Arthur, and myself, I will wear the crown. Even if that means having to sit through all those awful etiquette lessons from Geoffrey and the banquets and speeches--”

“Hey, I _write_ most of Arthur's speeches!”

“And thank goodness, because the ones he insists on doing himself are _terrible._ ”

“Not everyone can be a philosopher, especially after all those blows to the head. At least he's decent with his sums. If only because he hasn't lost any fingers yet.” 

They giggled together, as though it were old times. Gwen shifted to lay her head on his shoulder. “Just remember that _you_ make him happy, too. Even if he doesn't admit it.”

Merlin sighed. “Gwen, he and I are _friends_.”

“Only because you're both afraid to try.”

“I'm just a servant.”

“As was I.”

“I'm a _man_.”

“And you think he cares? Oh, the _stories_ Morgana would tell about his escapades with the knights—don't tell me you missed out on those!”

He could feel his ears heat up. “Well, no. But he hasn't . . . not for _years_. Since probably before we met Gwaine.”

“Hmm. Almost like how he used to dally with the maidservants. Right up until he realized there was a particular one he wanted.”

Merlin's breath caught in his throat. She was right. As soon as Arthur had admitted to himself that he cared for Gwen, Merlin had noticed a sudden _decrease_ in Arthur's activities. He hadn't questioned it, being only grateful that he wasn't walking in on them anymore.

And likewise, Arthur hadn't indulged himself with his fellow knights since . . . _since Gwaine_. Merlin remembered with a pang the look on Arthur's face when Merlin had told him that their new friend was bunking with him. Gwaine had never been subtle about his flirting, almost like he enjoyed riling Arthur up. 

Had Arthur truly wanted him all these years? His pulse quickened again, this time not toward panic but toward . . . _hope_. 

Gwen sat up and was looking at him now. “Does that look in your eye mean that you've found your courage?”

He took a deep breath to try and steady himself. “If . . . I _want_ to believe, Gwen. I really do. But if I go through with telling him . . . I have more than one secret, Gwen. And I don't believe I could tell one and not the other. It would be too much, to be so close to him and still hide.”

Her brow creased in confusion. “What secret?”

He smirked, “If I told you, it wouldn't be a secret, would it?”

“Merlin.”

“It's huge, Gwen. It's something I've hidden from Arthur—from _everyone_ , since I came to Camelot. And it's probably something that he will be very angry about; he might not forgive me--”

“Oh my god, you're a sorcerer.”

If he could have choked on thin air, he would have. “Wh-what?”

Gwen stared at him, eyes wide. “You have magic, don't you!”

Utterly flabbergasted, he flailed his hands a little, “I--”

“I knew it.”

“You _what?_ ”

“ _You!_ The thing with the lamia!” Suddenly glaring, she smacked him on the arm. _Hard._ “You git. Just _lucky_ , indeed!”

Okay, yeah. That hadn't been his best bit of prevarication. 

She finally took pity on him. “I've honestly wondered since then, Merlin. I mean, it answers so many questions. But believe me: there's very, very little that Arthur wouldn't forgive where you're concerned.”

Merlin tried to smile, “D'you think this is on the list?”

The way Gwen's mouth twisted sank his hopes a little. “I think . . . I think you're right. He'll be angry. More so after all this time. But I agree it would be wrong to ask him to be with you, when he doesn't know. You need to tell him. It's not going to get any easier. At least . . . I hate to say it, but at least Uther's gone.”

“I would never have asked Arthur to make that choice.”

“I know. And he'll understand that. Once he gets done being furious, anyway.”

“You gonna keep him from chopping my head off?” he teased.

She chuckled, inclining her head regally. “I suppose I could make an effort. If he goes for a hanging, you're on your own.” She smiled at him now, a real smile. “It needs to be done, Merlin. It's worth doing. No more secrets. No more lies. I imagine it would take the world off your shoulders.”

For a moment, just a tiny sliver of time, Merlin tried to imagine it. Taking that final step. Telling Arthur everything. The idea was so huge, such a fundamental shift, that he couldn't begin to fathom. Would Arthur want to see his magic? Would he be frightened? Angry?

Would he still want Merlin? 

Would he still love him?

“Merlin.” Gwen's voice was soft, and heavy with a deep sadness. “If Arthur cannot forgive you—if he cannot love you in spite of your magic—then he's not the man we've both hoped he would be. He forgave me for my betrayal. I truly believe he will do the same for yours.”

“And if he banishes me, too?” It was his other deepest fear. To be sent away the same way Gwen had. To have Arthur so angry that he would cast him out of Camelot altogether. Refuse to speak of him. Try to replace him. 

“I won't let him. And if I can't stop him, I'm coming with you. We'll go back to Ealdor and see your mother.” She was Gwen all over, face stubborn and defiant. “If he wants to throw away your friendship and love, then he'll have to make do with losing mine, as well. He may be king, but that doesn't mean he's right all the time.”

Merlin finally laughed. “I'm pretty sure he'd consider that treason.”

“Let him.” She leaned forward and pulled him into another hug, which he returned gratefully. “One thing at a time,” she whispered into his ear. “We'll have a happy ending yet, for all of us.”

Merlin let himself bury his face in her hair, breathing in the scent of flowers. It still amazed him sometimes just how good Gwen was, and how lucky he was to have met her.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Arthur's voice jolted through both of them, and they let go of each other abruptly. The king was standing in the infirmary doorway, looking somewhere between annoyed and uncertain.

Merlin realized they must be a sight. His face and eyes were most likely still red from his panic attack, and Gwen was thoroughly rumpled from both hugging and sitting on the floor like a commoner. Which, to be fair, she was, and it was Merlin's favorite look for her at the moment. 

He jumped up to his feet, extending a hand to Gwen to help her up. “Up you get, m'lady.” Between the two of them, they got her upright, voluminous skirts and all, and he walked her over to Arthur. “She was just coming in for a consult, sire.”

Arthur gave him a Look. “And that involved _rolling around on the floor_.”

“Absolutely,” Gwen teased. “I was suffering from an excess of royalty. Merlin suggested I practice scrubbing the floors, minus the actual bucket and brush, of course.”

“Just a little reminder of where we peasants belong,” Merlin intoned. “Good for treating swelling of the head. You might want to give it a go sometime. Otherwise you might start having trouble fitting into your helm.”

Arthur glared, but they could both see the unwilling amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. A mouth that, for once, Merlin doesn't feel bad about getting his gaze caught on. “I'll take it under advisement, as soon as the _actual_ court physician deigns to give his opinion on the subject. In the meantime, _Merlin_ , I'm sure you're more than willing to test your own theory out. Perhaps we should see if the same effect can be achieved by, say, mucking out the stables?”

Merlin gasped in mock outrage, “You haven't had me muck your horses in _ages_.”

“Precisely, and you've become insolent in return. Perhaps a return to your former duties is the cure we need for a swollen head. Though it's a shame. Your ears finally matched.”

“Prat.”

“At the very least, it's nearing dinner time. Bring it up, would you? We'll be dining in our chambers, if that's all right with you, Guinevere?”

Gwen gave her husband a half smile. “That's fine. I wanted to talk with you anyway.” Taking his offered arm, she tugged him down the hall toward their—soon to be Arthur's again—chambers. 

Merlin watched them go for a moment, then headed towards the kitchens, his heart and feet lighter than they'd been in ages. Things weren't quite resolved yet, but for once he had hope of getting there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the love of all the gods, DO NOT take Merlin's medical advice as such. I practice the Fertility Awareness Method; he's mostly describing the rhythm method. Don't use that. Just don't.
> 
> For more of my insights, feel free to check out my Me vs. Merlin tag on my tumblr (same username.) Once I'd finished watching the show, I looked back and some of that shit's pretty hilarious!


	2. Chapter 2

Merlin was right. Arthur _whined._ Over the next month or so, Merlin was in danger of actually spraining something in his skull from how hard and often he was rolling his eyes at the king's bruised ego. Even on the week where Gwen would have been--ahem-- _indisposed_ anyway. 

Still, things had settled very quickly into a pleasant routine. Arthur woke as he had before and did the various things he or Merlin had scheduled for him (while complaining that he missed overseeing the knights, of course.) Gwen was naturally there for every court and council session, and often, they shared lunch together to discuss what had been covered. If not for lunch, they usually met for supper instead. 

The only major differences were that Gwen unfailingly insisted that Merlin eat with them, and would generally excuse herself to her rooms at the end of the evening.

The former had both men a bit befuddled. Oh, _Merlin_ had some idea of what she was up to, but her methods left him puzzled. He'd been with Arthur for the majority of his meals for several years, now. He was the servant. He _served._ The food, the wine, whatever needed doing. And now, he was being ushered into a seat and generally not allowed to do his job.

Gwen just made noises about how she was tired of being treated like she had no hands of her own, and told Arthur pointedly that with both herself and Merlin, they were 'perfectly able to meet your needs between them.'

 _Subtle, Guinevere,_ he mentally snarked.

To her credit, it did introduce meals with just Arthur. Before, Arthur would eat while Merlin busied himself, trying not to overtly eye either the man himself, or the delicious-smelling food on the platter.  


However, now Arthur seemed aware that Merlin, too, required sustenance, and he started waving Merlin over to sit with him and share.

And let's be honest, Merlin had been filching off of Arthur's plates since he figured out he _could,_ but there was a decided difference between having it cold and half-eaten in an alcove on the way back to the kitchens, and actually getting to eat it hot and fresh. Plus, he got to have a crack at all of the bits Arthur considered his favorites before the prat made off with them himself.

Such as peaches pickled in honey.

 _“Ohgods,”_ Merlin mumbled when the treat touched his tongue, eyes closing in bliss. Pickled peaches were expensive enough in Camelot to only really be found at the castle, if at all. Merlin had seen them on the royal plate plenty of times, but Arthur had never failed to eat every last bit. When he'd actually _offered_ Merlin one _(just one, Merlin. No need to waste more than that on your provincial palate,)_ he'd known better than to say no.  


It was worth the wait. The sweetness of the honey intermingled with that of the peach and the result was fucking _divine._ Merlin couldn't help moaning, popping his fingers into his mouth to suck off every trace of honey, tongue lapping at the webbing between his fingers before sliding back up to the tips.  


When his eyes opened again, Arthur was staring at him with the oddest expression on his face. His eyes were dark and intent, a bit of a flush on his cheeks, lips slightly parted. The closest Merlin can think he's seen before was when Arthur was enchanted to chase Vivian. That had been more primal than the one Sophia had cast. Sophia had simply needed Arthur to love her, soft and biddable. King Alined and Trickler had been looking for _scandal,_ drawing on both false love and lust. Arthur had had the same intent look then as now—like he was imagining _exactly_ what Merlin looked like without his clothes, and calculating just how to get him out of them.

Merlin felt an answering heat, and prayed his ears weren't getting as red as they felt.

Arthur's brain seemed to re-engage at that moment, and the flush darkened as he scoffed, “Well, I suppose I should have expected a lowly peasant to have such appalling table manners.”

For once, Merlin realized, he didn't have to pretend not to understand. He didn't have to hide behind the veil of propriety. He _wanted this_. Hell, _Gwen_ wanted this. Arthur wanted this, too. They just needed him to reach out for it. Instead of taking the easy route, allowing Arthur the deflection he sought, Merlin gave him a positively _wicked_ grin. “Sorry, Sire. I just couldn't help it. That was the _best_ thing I've ever had in my mouth. So far, anyway.”

And with that, he gave his thumb one last, thorough lick before jumping up and clearing the dishes. He was out the door before Arthur could stop gaping.

\----------------------

Another major difference in life was that he was spending an incredible amount of time with _Guinevere._

Having been raised in Camelot, he'd thought she would have the same sort of intrinsic terror of magic that seemed to be second nature to the other citizenry. Instead, she seemed to be a very Gwen-like mixture of fascinated and nervous. Every day, she found some time to be alone with him, and would ask a million questions. Some were about previous events, some about Morgana--and it was a relief to confess how much he'd known and done. Eventually, she even asked to _see_. He'd amused her endlessly by showing her all the various tricks he'd learned or invented to deal with his chores, and outperformed even the best of the visiting entertainers.

And damn it, it was _fun._

He'd been so alone for a long time. Of course, he'd had Gaius and his mother in on the secret, but they lived their lives in a perpetual state of fear for him. His magic made them _afraid_ , if not for the same reasons others would fear it. Gwen, once she got used to the idea, was _enchanted_ , for lack of a better word. 

Of course, he was limited in what he could show off in her rooms, so they wound up sneaking into the castle gardens so he could bloom flowers out of season for her, or to the roof to summon sparrows, or even the stables to show off how he'd created a spell that forced the horses to be calm and stand still, regardless of chaos, battle, snakes, or dragons(not that he mentioned _that,_ but as a woman who occasionally found herself on horseback in ridiculous skirts, Gwen was still quite impressed.)

In fact, they spent so much time creeping about like naughty children that he was starting to neglect his duties. Not that he'd ever _cared_ , per se, but he couldn't help but notice that most of the time, when he and Gwen were interrupted in their little game, it was by an Arthur who looked increasingly more irritated and upset that Merlin wasn't where he was supposed to be. Or Gwen, for that matter.  
Arthur eventually started retaliating for Merlin's 'laziness' by assigning yet more chores, which led to Merlin and Gwen spending more time in Arthur's rooms instead. He'd cheat on his work, and Gwen would alternately be delighted and pretend to be offended that he'd never helped her back when she'd had her own workload. Never mind that neither Morgana nor the ill Uther had exactly been slave drivers.

Merlin was so wrapped up in the new-found fun of it all that he almost didn't notice that anything was wrong with _Arthur_ , until one night, as he was settling his king into bed. He'd snuffed the candle, but as he'd turned, a hand had shot out and grabbed his wrist.

Startled, Merlin looked, really _looked_ at Arthur, for the details he was often too close, too familiar to notice. The subtle shadows under his eyes, the pinched look of his mouth. “Arthur, what's wrong?”

Arthur just stared at him for a long moment from where he lay. “I . . . Merlin, is there anything you want to tell me?”

Instinctively, Merlin's stomach lurched with the familiar refrain— _ohgodheknows_ —but habit kicked in and he gave Arthur his most disarming—if somewhat idiotic—grin, “Hardly, sire. You know me; I'm an open book.”

Arthur flinched, and his eyes turned into blue steel. “Yes. I suppose that's the problem.” And with that cryptic statement, he rolled over to face away.

A chill crept over Merlin's spine at his tone. He had mis-stepped somehow, and he wasn't sure exactly where. “Arthur . . .”

“Good _night, Mer_ lin.”

It took him a few moments to mutter a soft, “Good night, sire,” before obeying what was a clear dismissal.

\------------------

The next morning, Arthur was still angry and stiff with him, so Merlin served him with humble efficiency before darting away to Gwen's rooms.

Thankfully, she was already awake—she would never be the type to laze about in bed. And bless her, she took one look at his face, and grabbed his hands. “You look awful! What's happened?

Merlin shrugged helplessly, “He's furious with me. I don't know—I mean, I know he's been upset about me shirking my chores—ignoring that I do more than even _George_ could manage on his own—but last night, he asked if I wanted to tell him anything and . . . I said no.”

Gwen went pale. “Do you think he's seen us when we've been . . .”

He considered carefully. “I don't think so. If he'd seen . . . I don't think he would have waited. He'd have confronted us right then.”

“Like this, you mean?”

The sound of Arthur's voice, icy cold, cut through them both like the headsman's ax. Gwen and Merlin both jerked around to see the man they both loved, looking at them like his world was about to shatter.

“So what am I interrupting _this_ time?” 

“ _Arthur,_ ” Gwen breathed, horrified comprehension dawning over her face. “ _No_. It's not what you're thinking.”

Oh. Oh _nonono_. 

Arthur's fist clenched, and the look on his face was tortured, tears welling in his eyes. “ _Really_ , Guinevere? Because what _should_ I be thinking? My _wife_ decides she'd rather spend her time away from my chambers--”

“Arthur, no--”

“--citing that she needs time _alone_ , no less--”

“Please, just listen!”

“And yet, every time I turn around, I find her in the company of my _servant_ and the both of them act guilty when they see me. Tell me, _just what am I to think?_ ” 

The worst part, the _absolute worst part,_ was the lack of anger in Arthur's voice. The ice had broken, and he should have been raging—part of Merlin half expected Arthur to draw his sword and charge like he had with Lancelot. But instead, all they could hear was raw, unfiltered pain.

And in all their sneaking about and silly pranks and experiments, they'd never considered how it might _look._ Especially to one who'd been so cruelly betrayed before, by so many, but _especially_ Gwen.

Gwen, for her credit, did not give in entirely to panic. She took a deep breath. Merlin could almost see her turning her spine to iron. “Please. Do _not_ come to conclusions. Sit down, and we'll make a clean breast of it, _right here_. I promise.”

Breathing hard, Arthur moved forward slowly, as through treacle, and sat at Gwen's table with jerky motions. He couldn't seem to look at either of them directly, but instead looked beyond them, at the window. Merlin hadn't seen his expression this wrecked since his father's death.

Wringing her hands in front of her, Gwen, swallowed audibly, “Arthur, it's. We have something to tell you. Or. Well, Merlin does, but I'm a part of it now, and so if you're going to be angry, be angry at both of us, because--”

“Gwen, stop,” Merlin butted in, seeing how Arthur's face paled even more. “You're making it sound even worse.” 

“It can't sound much worse, Merlin.” Arthur voice was gravel in his ears. “You _know_ , Merlin. How much it hurts me to be betrayed, and _you_ have always been the one with the pretty words about how it's them, not me, and now--”

“ _Please, just listen_.”

Arthur stopped, bringing a hand to his mouth almost like he was about to be sick. His eyes were welling up with tears, and Merlin felt like the lowest cad.

He looked at Gwen helplessly, unable to ignore the fear and anguish in her face. “Arthur. I swear, on my mother's life, Gwen and I are _friends._ We always have been. I would never . . . you _know,_ I have always wanted you and her to be together, since the first time you showed an interest. I've only wanted you two to be happy together.

“But . . . it is true that I have betrayed you. And lied. Just, not about _that._ Please, Arthur, promise that despite what I have to tell you, do _not punish Gwen for what I've done._ ”

Gwen choked on a sob, her calm facade failing. “Merlin, don't--”

Arthur's fist came down on the table, jolting everything on it. “Out with it, Merlin! I'll have the truth of it, if I have to put you in the dungeons to get it.”

 _“Your word,_ Arthur. Or you can call the guards right now.”

A muscle twitched in Arthur's jaw, but he managed to grit out, “I give my word. Guinevere will not be punished for _your_ transgressions.”

There were some fairly exploitable loopholes in that, and if Arthur was a lesser man, Merlin might have worried. But he trusted Arthur to keep his promise in the spirit. “Thank you.” Merlin sat down at the table across from Arthur, though he kept on the edge of his seat, in case he needed to move away suddenly. “Arthur. I . . . I.” 

His throat clogged up against his will, his heart beginning to slam so hard against his ribcage he was surprise his shirt wasn't moving. Arthur was just staring at him, waiting for what Merlin had to say, but even though the words were running circles 'round his skull like a herd of wild horses _(I'masorcererIhavemagicI'masorcerorIhavemagicI'masorcerorPleaseforgivemeIloveyou)_ , nothing escaped his open mouth but a wheezing breath.

He raised shaking hands to his face, recognizing dimly that he was having another bout of panic. He mentally screamed at himself, because this was _terrible timing_ and he needed to just stop and why couldn't he just stop and breathe and--

Firm fingers grabbed his ear and gave a vicious yank. The obstruction in his throat made way to a startled, _“Ow, buggering shite!”_ that mortified him even though he meant every syllable. He pulled his head back and clapped a hand over the abused ear, glaring daggers at his _supposed_ best friend. “That _hurt!_ ”

“I know! I'm sorry!” Gwen held her hands up in a placating gesture. “I just . . . you were starting to panic and I remembered what you said last time about intense sensations sometimes distracting from the symptoms, so I thought--”

“You thought what, exactly? They're already big enough, no need to make them lopsided, as well.” He gave her a small smile anyway, to let her know she was forgiven, before turning back to Arthur. He opened his mouth, but was frustrated when another lump rose in his throat. He swallowed against it; it took a few tries to speak. “I don't know . . . I don't think I can say it.”

Gwen walked around the table until she could lay a hand on his shoulder, the other on Arthur's. “Can you _show_ him?”

Could he? Merlin felt his magic almost surging at the idea—felt how it _wanted_ Arthur to know. This was his King, his destiny. His—his Arthur.

Merlin reached out a shaking hand, palm up, and summoned a shimmering ball of light.

Arthur jerked back so strongly that he was forced to stand when his chair was knocked to the floor.

It took a supreme force of will to keep Merlin in his seat when his body wanted to bolt, and frankly, it was probably only Gwen's hand still clutching him that kept him from falling prey to his flight response. As it was, he was shaking so hard that his automatic, _'m sorry.'_ was almost strangled. The light in his palm fizzled out.

Arthur wasn't wearing a sword, but true to his boasting, he had been trained in combat since birth, and Merlin could literally see Arthur looking for something to use as a suitable weapon. “Guinevere, come here!”

“No.”

He swallowed, “Guinevere, he's a _sorcerer.”_

Gwen squared her shoulders. “I know, Arthur.”

Hands fisted, jaws clenched, Arthur's face—full of distrust and fury—did nothing to ease the tightness in Merlin's chest. “Have you _enchanted_ her? Have you enchanted _me?_ What's your game?”

Merlin shook his head desperately, not trying to stem the tears running down his face. “I would _never ever_ mean you harm. It's for you, Arthur, only for you.”

“Prove it.”

Oh god, _how?_ “Well, I'd have made you a lot nicer, for one.” And thank all the gods ever worshiped, because he could see Arthur's mouth twitch in the way that meant he was fighting amusement. If he could get Arthur through his initial fight response, he might get through this unscathed. “Arthur, if I wanted to hurt you, or Camelot, I wouldn't have to use magic to do it. I wouldn't have to do _anything_. Just. Nothing but stand aside.”

“And what the hell does that mean?” Good. He still sounded furious, but he was _listening._

“It means that . . . that I could have let you drink from Bayard's cup. The perfect assassination opportunity, really. I wasn't even involved. Bayard would have taken the fall, and I'd have had my hands clean. Or I could have let Sophia drown you in the Lake of Avalon--”

Arthur started. “Let Sophia _what--”_

“Or just let the Questing Beast's bite do its job. Everyone else had given up, you know. Gaius wanted to give you something to 'ease your passing.' I could just have stood aside and let the venom take its course. Hell, I could have just _not pulled you out of the way of that knife_. And all of that in the first year of knowing you, Arthur. And I _protected_ you. I didn't let you come to harm.” He shook his head fiercely, praying Arthur could see the sincerity in his eyes. “I would _never_ let you come to harm if I could spare you.”

“And why didn't you? Why would you protect a son of Camelot?”

“At first, I only protected you because I was told it was my destiny to do so. And you couldn't fulfill your destiny if you were dead. But then . . .” Merlin cast about for the right words. “Arthur, half of the dangers you face are because of what your father did. The Purge. So many people murdered, and those left behind want revenge for what he's done. Or even just to stop what he might have done, given time. I _know_ you've seen that. Others simply wanted you and him removed so that the laws against magic could be undone. And even though I understand all that, it still doesn't make their methods right. 

“But then I started to really see you. _You_. Not the prince, not the prat. You. Because . . . because you're _not_ your father, Arthur. And thank the gods for it. It's not fair that you have to pay for what he did.”

“What he _did_ was cleanse sorcery from Camelot and bring peace.” Arthur's words bore the sound of rote repetition, but were thankfully free of the arrogance Merlin might have expected from a younger Arthur.

“The Great Purge brought nothing but hate and fear, Arthur. Magic _itself_ never left. I'm not the only one in hiding. Even if I and every other magic user and creature and seer and druid all vanished from Camelot right this moment, magic would still exist. It's in the very earth itself, the sun, the sky, the wind, the rain. It's a part of the world, and it _wants_ to be used.” And it was true; Merlin could feel his magic still buzzing under his skin, raising his awareness of every natural thing around him.

“Magic is _dangerous_ , Merlin. It _corrupts._ ”

Merlin bit his lip in frustration. “That's what you've been told, but . . . but look.” He gestured to the sideboard that he knew held extra cutlery. It flew open with a whispered word, causing Arthur to jerk as an eating knife flew into Merlin's hand. “Look, magic is like a knife. It's meant to be used. And there's a million uses for it. Not just eating, but things like chopping herbs, or cutting stitches, or prying things open, or getting windows unstuck or . . . or that one time you got a buckle on your armor smashed closed and I had to use one of these to work the leather free. Magic can be used for _so much._ Healing and mending and making crops grow and taking things apart or making them anew. And yes,” he thumbed the blade. “Yes, magic, just like a knife, can be used to hurt. To frighten. To kill, even. But only when used that way. And only by someone who means to do so. Accidents happen, of course, but the intent behind it depends on the _person_ , not the tool they're using.”

Arthur was silent, eyes downcast. He was obviously thinking hard, and Merlin was content to let him do so, not even cracking the usual jokes. Finally, he said quietly, “Is not the power to do as one pleases enough to corrupt even the best of men?”

Merlin laid the knife on the table, “The druids have between them enough power to overtake a kingdom if they so wished, yet they choose a simple life among the trees. In the years I've served you, almost all of the magic users sentenced—those that _were_ magic users and not simply accused out of jealousy or revenge—were guilty of simple healing or silly love spells or magic meant to try and make their lives easier. Agravaine had _no_ magic of his own, but his evil left _so much pain_ in his wake and I know you still grieve from his betrayal.

“Arthur, when we met, you were using a servant as a moving target. You were a prat, because you had the power to be so. The man standing before me today would never do so, even though he has ten times the power he did then. Believe me when I say that power may have an influence, but it's just that. Influence. Trust me, you've _influenced_ me towards turning you into an actual toad, but I'd never do it, because I'd never use my magic against you in that way. I meant what I said before. I'm happy to be your servant until the day I die.” He swallowed. “Even if you decide that today's that day.”

Gwen's hand flew from his shoulder to clutch at his hand as they watched Arthur pace over to the window, clutching hard at the sill as he stared down into the courtyard.

“Can you tell me in all honesty that you've never used your magic against me or my will?”

Merlin flinched, his silence damning.

“ _Merlin._ ”

“I—Morgana's last attack. Remember how you woke up at the smuggler's camp? That was. Well, I told you that you passed out, but I spelled you. We—the knights and Gaius and I—knew you wouldn't leave willingly. So I . . . I took away your willpower for a day. That's why Tristan and Isolde thought you were a simpleton.”

“. . . You mean I actually spoke to those people and made an ass of myself.”

“Not so different from normal, really.” He didn't even flinch when Arthur glared at him.

“Look, Arthur. Influencing another isn't exactly difficult, not for someone as, well, _well-placed_ as I am. I've had to remove more enchantments from you than I can count, and learned a lot about them as a whole. You've never been exactly _subtle_ when you're enchanted. Even if I hadn't noticed, _someone_ would have by now. And now that I have your attention, if you could stop slapping on every piece of jewelry or token you're given, I think we'll have that sorted.”

“Jewelry?” Gwen broke in. “Is jewelry dangerous?” Her voice sounded troubled.

Merlin had nearly forgotten she was there. “Well, gems and jewelry are both good for enchantments. When you want to usurp the will of another, especially. You either have to cast the spell to their face, with eye contact, or place something under their pillow, or make them eat or drink a potion, or get them to wear something you've spelled. Face to face spells and potions tend to be needed when you want someone to _really_ act outside the realm of possibility—the Sophia and Vivian debacles are a good example. Ensorcelled items are good for when you just need a . . . push?” The hand on his jerked back so suddenly, Merlin was startled. “Gwen?”

For there were big, fat tears rolling down Gwen's face, and her expression was a rictus of misery. “Would a bracelet do?”

Merlin felt a chill down his spine. “Who gave you a bracelet?”

She shook her head, seemingly unable to speak.

He reached out and clutched her arm, ignoring how Arthur automatically tensed. _“Gwen, who?”_

Gwen sucked in a breath, glancing over at her husband before whispering, “Lancelot. When he . . . before I. He . . . he came to my home, and gave it to me.”

The chill settled in his stomach. “Gwen. Look at me.” When he was sure he had her full attention—Arthur's sudden fierce scrutiny from the window, he ignored—he pressed on. “I know this is hard to hear, but that wasn't Lancelot. It was a shade, a creature of necromancy. Morgana brought him back from the dead, but it _wasn't him._ Now, _where is that bracelet?”_

Her breathing was ragged as she tried to both process what he was telling her, and try to remember through the devastation of those days. “I—I took it off, in the cell. And threw it on the floor.”

“Gods,” he breathed. “Those cells have been cleaned, which means there's an enchanted piece of jewelry with Morgana's magic in it somewhere.” He dropped his head into his hands, already thinking out the logistics of tracing the magic. “It might take me a few days, but . . . unless either of you have heard rumors of someone acting stranger than usual, it could be nearly anywhere. If it's simply to overcome inhibitions, it may be simply a servant stealing more honeycakes than usual. Tying actual _people_ into the spell is usually tricky, and I doubt Lance— _the shade_ would have been able to tie it to you without noticing. It could have been tied to him, specifically, in which case, he's gone, and the enchantment's broken. But even if it's just a simple compulsion, it could cause a lot of damage--”

He broke of as he glanced up to see both Arthur and Gwen staring at him, which made him flush a bit. “Er, sorry. I was just . . . thinking out loud. Don't worry about it; I'll get it sorted out, one way or another.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “And that's . . . that's what you _do?_ Some sort of magic hunter, like Aredian?”

Merlin glared, “ _Not_ like Aredian. I don't plant evidence. I make sure I have the right magic-user for the crime. And I _don't torture anyone._ I've killed, yes, to protect you or others, but I don't do it unless I absolutely have to. I resort to killing when I have no other choice. And I certainly don't consider it a badge of pride like he did, nor would I ever do it for . . . for _pay.”_ The very idea made his stomach turn, but he forced that feeling down so that he could meet Arthur's eyes. “I've spent all these years protecting you. And I don't want any—well, I don't _need_ any credit for it.” 

Arthur's lips quirked, before compressing in a hard line. “God, all those times you said you were at the tavern, or acted like an idiot. You were just covering for yourself. I've . . . treated you badly. More so than you deserve.”

He shrugged. “To be fair, you didn't know what I was doing. There really wasn't any reason for you to think otherwise.” The admission left a sour taste in his mouth, but he had to be honest. He'd had to do ridiculous things in order to hide his magic. 

Arthur rolled his eyes. “So you're _not_ an idiot. That was another lie.”

Merlin gave him a weak smile. “Oh no. It's just another part of my charm. If I was _really_ brilliant, I'd have enchanted you to be less of an arse.”

Gwen actually cracked a smile, “Oh, Merlin, you managed to do that anyway, without magic. And you know it, Arthur, if you'll only admit it.”

Arthur's mouth twisted in a self-deprecating smile. “Guinevere, I've known you for a long time. Since Morgana came to live with us. And you know I wasn't . . . the best of people, before Merlin came.”

Gwen huffed. “That's a bit of an understatement, Arthur.”

Merlin added, “You were _throwing knives_ at Morris! You used me as a living _training_ dummy just so you could knock me about with a sword! Or hammer. You treated me like a mix between a slave and a dog—”

“But you always called me on it!” Arthur blurted out, surprising them both. “I . . . I changed, because the both of _you_ were there. Guinevere, from the beginning you've always demanded that I be better than I was, better than Uther's son. And Merlin, you . . . you didn't really demand it. But you saw the very worst of me, and you didn't leave. You stayed. You were my friend, even when I . . . really didn't deserve it. And you, of all people, would tell me that I would be the greatest king the world had ever known, in the same breath that you'd whinge about my dirty socks.”

Merlin couldn't help but grin. “They _are_ pretty bad, Sire.”

Gwen giggled a little, the wildly changing emotions adding a slightly overwrought edge to it. “Arthur, don't you see? Nothing has _changed,_ except that now you know how Merlin's been keeping your socks from killing the laundresses and taking over the keep.”

Merlin pushed himself to his feet, looking down at Arthur. “Look. It's been . . . a really rough morning, at this point. I think maybe we all need a little time to absorb. Gwen, I'm so sorry I didn't tell you about Lancelot before now. Arthur, I'm sorry for . . . for almost everything.”

Arthur's brows raised, “Almost?”

“I'm categorically _not_ sorry for anything I ever did to save your life, or your knights, or Gwen, or Camelot in general. I'm . . . honestly not sorry for using magic to do my chores, because frankly, you're a slave-driver, and you know it. And I can't really be sorry for having magic at all, since it's something I was born with.”

“So . . . you're basically not sorry for anything?”

“I'm sorry for lying,” Merlin responded. “I wish I could have told you before, and I _should_ have told you after you became king, but by then I was too much a coward. I was afraid that even if you didn't kill me on the spot, that you'd make me leave, or hate me, and I couldn't bear the thought of it.” He paused for a moment, watching the sincerity of his voice soften Arthur's face. “Now. Arthur, you and Gwen both need some space to absorb all of this. I need to go to the tavern—which is shorthand for 'start looking up information about tracking magical jewelry,' by the way. You two talk, or take a break, and we'll meet back up for dinner, I suppose.”

Gwen nodded, while Arthur just looked bemused. “You know, Merlin. I'm the king. She's the queen. You don't tell us what to do.”

Merlin waited a beat, to at least look like he was considering the idea, then raised an eyebrow. “Right. See you at dinner.” 

He left the room to the sound of Arthur's laughter.

 

\---------------------------


	3. Chapter 3

As it turned out, Merlin _did_ spend a bit of time in the tavern, if only to try and catch some of the gossip. To be fair, though, he had made sure to spend plenty of time in the other gossip haven of Camelot: the castle kitchens. However, even the most powerful sorcerer was hard matched against Audra's temper, and he eventually had to remove himself from underfoot under pain of a wooden spoon. After that, he'd honestly just needed a pint.

He'd had no more than a swallow before the bench creaked as Gwaine deposited himself on it. “Well, well, Merlin! Isn't often we see you in here. Come to enjoy the ambiance, or should I send the guards to look for Arthur's corpse?”

Merlin snorted. “Hello. Isn't it a bit early in the day for a knight to be drinking?”

Gwaine tossed his hair aside, smirking, “No such thing, my friend. I'll have you know the Hog's Head makes a _fantastic_ breakfast.”

He paused in his drinking for a moment, incredulous. “Gwaine, the Hog's Head isn't even _open_ for breakfast.”

“It is when _I_ stay the night.” Gwaine capped this off by _winking_ at the owner, who just laughed and winked back as she deposited a fresh pint in front of him. As she wandered back off, the knight unashamedly admired the swing of her hips.

“You are genuinely incorrigible,” Merlin breathed in mock wonder. 

“I didn't hear you complaining.” The long, leisurely look down Merlin's frame made him feel warm all over. 

He cleared his throat a little. “Yes, well. At the time, I was reaping the benefits, wasn't I?” he replied in a hushed voice.

Gwaine leaned in, just a little, a familiar gleam in his eyes that was as good as a hand on Merlin's body. “Don't suppose you'd like to reap them again?” he teased, just as quietly.

Merlin laughed. Propositioning other men just wasn't _done,_ at least not in public, and yet Gwaine persisted in kicking societal rules in the teeth. “Sorry, but I may have a better offer. I hope, anyway.”

“Better than a knight of the realm?”

In his mind's eye, he pictured Arthur, as he'd seen him a thousand times: at his desk, the fading sun supplemented by candlelight as he went over the day's reports and made decisions on for the morrow. The idea of being able to finally go to him, rub his sore shoulders from both weapon practice and hunching over his work. Maybe kiss him, maybe even drag him to bed if he worked too late . . .

“. . . I'll take that as a yes, then.”

He snapped back to the present to see Gwaine looking at him with a wistful expression. “Oh. Sorry. I was just--”

A sad smile crossed Gwaine's face. “Him again? I thought--”

His guts twisted with a mix of embarrassment and shame. Gwaine and Lancelot had been the only ones he'd ever confessed his feelings for Arthur to. Well, to be exact, they'd both been the only ones to figure it out, or so he hoped. Lancelot had brought it up as a friend, while helping him pick herbs for Gaius soon after they'd met. Gwaine had brought it up as a lover who couldn't help but notice that his partner's eyes and thoughts were always on another. Thankfully, Gwaine was, for all his faults, an incredibly good man.

Merlin looked around very carefully, judging the distance of the other patrons and finding it safe enough. He scooted a little closer to Gwaine, and said, in a quiet voice. “Gwen knows.”

The knight's eyes grew wide. “Was she angry?”

He bit his lip, “If she ever was, she's not mentioned it. She thinks I should tell him. And I . . . I might.” _It can't be harder than what I've admitted already,_ he thought. “She thinks we should, well, _share.”_

Jaded, been-there-done-that Gwaine actually gawked at him for a full five seconds before asking, “ _Together?_ ”

He blinked at the strange surge of 'interested' in Gwaine's tone, then flushed when he figured it out, “What? No! _No._ Gwen and I aren't . . . I mean, I'm not. I don't think we're that kind of. Ah, no. She and Arthur, and Arthur and me. Not the three of us—how would that even— _no, don't tell me, you pervert.”_

The bastard was laughing now, delighted to see Merlin dropping his head into his hands. “Well, small starts, of course. I'm sure you'll get there at some point. 'T'would be a shame to waste the understanding of a good woman. ”

Merlin's voice was muffled, but emphatic. “Shut _up,_ Gwaine.”

There was another chuckle, before Gwaine took another long drink, and kindly changed the subject a little. “Well, well. Looks like Jonas is back. You want to look at an _unreasonable_ wife, there's the man who can show you.”

“Gwaine, I don't have the time to keep up with everyone's love life like you do.”

“Oh, you're not going anywhere. Just let a man gossip.”

“I thought _men_ didn't gossip.”

“Been listening to Arthur again, have you? We gossip. We just don't _call_ it that. And it's a good way to keep ahead of things. For example, doesn't Jonas there look familiar?”

Merlin dropped his hands long enough to take a quick peek around . . . and then did a double-take. “Isn't he one of the castle guards?” 

“Aye,” Gwaine said. “And he's having a rough time of it. I always take notice of the ones who suddenly start showing up out of the blue. That lad married the woman of his dreams, childhood love, and then she turns out, overnight, to be a greedy little harpy.”

Merlin makes a small noise intended to be sympathy, but his mind got stuck on: “Greedy?”

“The man would steal feathers from the Princess' pillow himself if she said she wanted a down pillow, but he made the mistake of giving her some fancy trinket, and she's got the taste for it, now. Always wanting new things. New jewellery, new fripperies, and a bit of a banshee about it. No leash on her temper at all.”

For all his faults, Gwaine was obviously sent by the gods just to make Merlin's life both easier and harder simultaneously. “Interesting bit of gossip you decided to grace me with, Gwaine. Been talking to the royal couple?”

Gwaine chuckled. “Nah. I told you. I notice the newcomers. You never come in here unless you're looking for unusual happenings and people. Did I manage to hit the nail on the head?”

Merlin drained his tankard. “Possibly. Come on. I need to talk to him, and it might help to have a big scary Knight of Camelot at my back. Lacking Percy, you'll have to do.”

“Oi!”

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

By the time Merlin finally made his way to the castle, he'd completely missed the evening meal, which, sadly, wasn't that unusual. The major difference was that this time, instead of angry threats of more training sessions with George, he was treated to a pale-faced King and Queen who listened very carefully as he outlined the path he'd taken to find the bracelet resting on the table before them. 

It had taken quite a while to convince the wife to part with it, but Merlin, after checking the enchantment over thoroughly, had determined that she would be feeling more herself within a day or so. The spell was meant to be subtle—obviously Morgana had learned from the times she'd seen Arthur ensorcelled, because it was meant not to be noticed by either the enchanted or those around them. Merlin felt a bit sick at the implication that Morgana's magic had progressed so far.

When his tale was done, Gwen excused herself, clearly upset. Before she went, she wrangled a promise from him to destroy it as soon as he knew how, and gave him a hug. Merlin watched her go, simultaneously glad to had put her mind at ease over the whole . . . well, _affair,_ and sorry to have broken her heart that much more about Lancelot and Morgana.

Then he waited, patiently, in the silence, for Arthur to say something.

“I suppose I should reward you for this.”

Merlin's felt his mouth compress in an unhappy line. “The fact that you're offering to reward a sorcerer rather than behead him is thanks enough.”

“Merlin . . .”

He shook his head firmly. “Look, I'm alive. You haven't banished me. You're also no longer yelling at me for being in the tavern or threatening to replace me with George. That's quite satisfactory, really.”

“I _should_ replace you with George.”

Merlin's heart stopped for a beat. “What? _Why?!”_

Arthur stood abruptly, “Because this . . . _you._ Why . . . why are you acting like a _servant?_ ”

He foundered a bit, hands flailing, “Because . . . I . . . I _am_ a servant, Arthur? I mean, I may have cheated on my chores a bit, but being a warlock isn't somehow exclusive of being a servant.”

Arthur sighed, sounding angrier. “There has to be something you _want,_ Merlin. Some sort of end goal. Even just some sort of . . . _reward._ ” He nodded towards the bracelet.

Okay, now Merlin was getting angry himself. “This isn't about that! I just wanted to help. I've _always_ wanted to help. Arthur, can't you see that everything I've done is _for you,_ not for myself! I don't _need_ anything from you, I don't need a reward for helping you!”

The muscle along Arthur's jaw was twitching again. “Then why would you keep on like this for so many years? A sorcerer as powerful as you, reduced to _washing my socks_ and scrubbing _floors. Why?”_ His tone was still exasperatedly angry, but there was genuine confusion and hurt in his eyes.

Oh, _bloody hell_. Merlin took a deep breath, wrestled with his anger, and took a risk. “For . . . for the same reason you _want_ me washing your socks and scrubbing your floors.” He stalked forward, getting up into Arthur's space in a way he knew would leave him feeling pressured.

“You've told me for years how useless I am as a servant, but you don't replace me. Not by George, not by _anyone._ I'm terrible at cleaning, I'm less than useless on a hunt, my cooking isn't exactly worth writing home about. You take me everywhere, and I've asked. You've never hauled your menservants off on hunts or patrols or _bloody fucking battles_ before me. So why?” He moved in even closer, near enough that they were nearly touching. He softened his voice, “Why have you put up with me all this time? Why do you want me with you? If I weren't your servant, we could still be friends, you know. You said so once. You did it with Gwen. What makes me so different?”

“I . . .” Arthur took a step back. Merlin followed.

“Why, Arthur?”

Another step, and Arthur was backed up against a wall. Merlin was perfectly aware that Arthur was more than a skilled enough warrior to make a proper escape if he truly wanted to—but also that Arthur was a skilled enough warrior that he'd have never let himself get trapped like this unless he didn't actually want to escape.

Arthur was starting to breathe hard, tension coiling through his shoulder, causing a familiar, stubborn posture. Merlin took a step back when he realized it, blowing out an angry sigh. If he pushed any harder, Arthur might just break in the wrong direction and cut off his nose to spite his face.

Merlin stared at the floor for a long moment, collecting his thoughts as well letting the strain ease off a little. He forced himself to move back a little further, stopping close to Arthur's chair. 

“Arthur, you need to make a decision that I can't help you with. At the very end of things, it doesn't matter how you feel about me if you don't trust me. I won't leave Camelot unless you force me to, and even then, I'd find some way to be here, because I can't . . . I care too much to leave you unprotected.” A lump rose in his throat, and he swallowed. “But I . . . if you don't trust me, then how I feel, how _you_ feel . . . it doesn't matter. You, of all people, know that love doesn't actually conquer all. Not unless you're willing to work for it.”

There was so much more he wanted to say. But . . . he didn't want to force Arthur's decision. Well, that wasn't quite true. Part of him desperately wanted to grab Arthur's stupid face in his hands and land a big, dramatic showy kiss on the mouth and declare his love and magic together in the same breath, but . . . 

But.

Instead he picked up the enchanted bracelet and slipped it in his pocket with shaking hands before turning and looking Arthur in the eyes. “Good night, Arthur.” The door had never seemed so far away, but he moved with determination.

“Well, you're awfully trusting, aren't you?” Arthur said, with a trace of his old Prince Prat tone. “How are you so sure I won't send a battalion of guards to haul you out of bed and into the dungeons?”

Merlin considered turning back to look, but knew he wouldn't leave if he did. “The same way you're trusting me to not flee Camelot in the middle of the night. But that's not the trust I'm talking about, and you're not so stupid you don't know the difference. Good _night,_ Arthur.” 

And with that, he left Arthur's rooms, firmly setting the door shut behind him.

Praying it wasn't the last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry; we're still not at the end. I don't know why. I had a plan. Two chapters. But things keep happening! Hopefully, next chapter will finally wrap things up!


End file.
